


Detective von Vestra and the Missing March

by whimsicott



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Detective AU, M/M, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24298615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicott/pseuds/whimsicott
Summary: A modern day detective AU. When a priceless painting goes missing, star detective Hubert von Vestra is forced to work together with rich heir Ferdinand von Aegir to recover it.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 133





	Detective von Vestra and the Missing March

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Atan](Http://twitter.com/atanalerectida) for beta-ing this fic!

Hubert is entirely familiar with the Fodlan Police Department’s White Collar Crimes Division office. Yes, having spent most of his adult life in this well-lit modern office made it so that Hubert could navigate past desks and chairs without even looking.

And he isn’t looking as he marches off toward the captain’s office. He is deep in his own thoughts, even if those thoughts primarily consist of silent swearing.

He opens the door to Captain Edelgard von Hresvelg’s office after knocking twice, not waiting for her to respond. She keeps an open door when it comes to him anyway, and even though it’s not something Hubert exploits often, he uses the chance now when he feels he truly needs it.

“Captain,” he clears his throat, and Edelgard turns around from her file cabinet to face him.

“Hubert,” she says coolly. “How may I help you?”

“Are you serious about your order?”

“About finding ‘The von Aegir March’? Yes. ‘The von Aegir March’ is a very important painting and I want my best man handling the case.”

 _Yes, but that’s not the problem here_ , Hubert bites back. Of course this part isn’t a problem. 

He understands the gravity of the situation. There’s already a huge commotion regarding the stealing of the historic painting, named ‘The von Aegir March’ for its illustration of the hero Derick von Aegir leading a charge during the battle of independence several hundred years ago. The mayor has vested personal interest in the case, with the painting en route to the Fodlan National Gallery when it was stolen. The media is sensational, with news reports flowing in non-stop regarding this painting.

Of course his captain would assign him to this case. He is the best the White Collar Division has to offer.

The problem comes with the footnote of his instructions.

Edelgard knew he was going to read it. Hubert is the type to read even the smallest detail. That’s what makes him the perfect fit for the White Collar Division. Art might not be his forte, but details are. Hubert thrives in the details.

“I mean about Ferdinand von Aegir,” he states out to Edelgard.

“Oh,” Edelgard nods. “Yes, he will be coming with you. That much is decided.”

“With all due respect, Captain,” Hubert says, trying to soothe the annoyance welling up inside of him. “You know I work best solo. I don’t even work well with people from our department, nevermind a rich kid who wants to play detective.”

“I do know,” Edelgard’s expression remains grave. “But he’s the godson to the mayor’s assistant, and the mayor says we must bring him along. I’m sure a man of your talents can make use of him somehow, Hubert.”

Hubert holds himself back from clicking his tongue. He doesn’t want to go against his captain. No, he has sworn his loyalty to his captain ever since he was a rookie — Edelgard von Hresvelg is capable, and under her careful management white collar crime in Fodlan has decreased significantly. Hers is a cause he wants to dedicate himself to.

“I know this is difficult,” Edelgard says, her voice softening. Here, she’s talking as his friend, not his captain. “But please, Hubert. The mayor would be all over us if we refuse Ferdinand’s help.”

“‘Help’, huh?” Hubert mutters. But he understands where she’s coming from. The mayor is heavy-handed and she has always been a pain to their department. “Fine, but we have to make sure he signs all the necessary release forms.”

“That is being handled,” Edelgard assures. “Dorothea is going through them with him right now.”

She glances over to the conference room, visible across the glass walls of her office. Hubert follows her glance to see Ferdinand von Aegir, sitting straight up on the chair. His long ginger locks falling freely down his back. 

Hubert has met Ferdinand von Aegir before in their department galas. As the godson of the mayor’s assistant, Ferdinand von Aegir is always invited along to such parties. He has left some sort of impression on Hubert — one of a bright, rather spoiled rich boy with interests in the fine things in life like wine, art, and expensive tea. 

In a way, he’s someone who’s very much different to Hubert. After all, Hubert doubts that he made any sort of impression on Ferdinand von Aegir in these galas. Unlike Ferdinand, Hubert is the furthest thing away from eye-catching brilliance.

Despite this impression, Ferdinand von Aegir is not someone Hubert can imagine working with.

But as long as Ferdinand doesn’t get in his way, it should be fine. Or so Hubert assures himself. 

Hubert watches as Ferdinand gets up from his chair, shaking Dorothea’s hand. Dorothea then leads him out of the conference room.

And toward the captain’s office, Hubert quickly realizes.

He takes another glance at Edelgard. She shakes her head apologetically, but looks like what’s done is done.

Dorothea knocks on the door before letting herself and Ferdinand into the captain’s office.

“Captain von Hresvelg,” Dorothea says in greeting as she enters. Hubert knows that she usually calls Edelgard by her first name, and the formality is mainly due to how they have a guest among them today. “Here are the forms, signed by Ferdinand von Aegir.”

She hands over the forms to Edelgard. The captain then skims quickly through them before nodding.

“Mister von Aegir,” she starts, but Ferdinand holds up his hand to stop her.

“Please, call me Ferdinand,” he says with a soft smile. “Mister von Aegir is my father.”

“Alright,” Edelgard takes a deep breath. “Ferdinand, I understand that you agree that the department cannot guarantee your safety during the investigation.”

“I agree with the terms presented to me,” Ferdinand says. “And I would still like to join in the investigation. ‘The von Aegir March’ is a treasured family heirloom, and I feel personally responsible for it.”

Edelgard nods. 

“Then, may I introduce you to Detective Hubert von Vestra. He is in charge of this investigation.”

“Detective von Vestra — or may I call you Hubert? We’re working together on this case, after all.”

“Call me as you wish,” Hubert answers coolly. “Just make sure you follow my directions.”

“I will,” Ferdinand assures, but Hubert does not find this entirely convincing. 

“I do have some questions for you to begin with,” Hubert says. At the very least, Ferdinand should be a decent witness. “Do you mind following me to my table?”

“Anything to help,” Ferdinand says with a wide smile. “I’m excited to be working with you, Hubert. I’ve heard a lot about your excellent records.”

Bright and earnest, Hubert notices. But still, he doesn’t entirely trust Ferdinand to be a credible partner as of now. Perhaps it’s his preconception that Ferdinand is a spoiled young master who gets everything he wants. Perhaps, it’s his annoyance that a civilian tries to barge into his investigation.

White Collar Division isn’t the most dangerous police department, but that doesn’t mean he appreciates a civilian waltzing in like there’s no danger at all.

He gives a quick bow to Edelgard before leaving the office with Ferdinand, leading the other man to his desk. There, he gestures Ferdinand to grab a chair as he readies his notepad and pen.

“I’d like to account for the last time you saw the painting.”

“I last saw it when it was taken down to be brought to the museum,” Ferdinand answers. “I just returned from my morning exercise at the time, so I remember it being eight in the morning. The painting was covered in cloth as my father and the transporters readied it for transport to Fodlan National Gallery.”

“It was covered at that time?” Hubert raises an eyebrow “When was the last time you saw the painting itself?”

“Hmm,” Ferdinand muses. “Must’ve been the night before. I walked past it around midnight. I talked to my father in his study before returning to my bedroom.”

“I see,” Hubert says. He jolts down the facts on his notepad. “Did you notice anything strange about the transporter?”

“Raphael?” Ferdinand says. This takes Hubert slightly by surprise. He doesn’t expect Ferdinand to know the transporter’s name. Ferdinand seems to realize the surprise in Hubert’s expression and smiles. “Raphael Kirsten. A good friend of mine hired him personally; that’s why he’s chosen to lead the transport of this painting. He’s not an art expert, but he’s strong and careful. He’s been with the gallery for a long time, so I don’t see how he could’ve been involved.”

“So you might say he’s reliable?”

“I can vouch for his character,” Ferdinand nods. “Besides, isn’t it the masked men who held him up who are the obvious culprits?”

But sometimes the transporter has something to do with it, Hubert thinks. Perhaps Raphael gets a cut from it or something like that. He’s just not as trusting as Ferdinand.

“Raphael has many younger siblings he has to support, I won’t hide that and neither would he,” Ferdinand continues. “But Lorenz — that’s the curator at Fodlan National Gallery — pays him well. There’s no reason for him to get involved in stealing a painting.” 

In any case, they had called in Raphael Kirsten and he should be arriving soon. But before that, he has one more question to ask Ferdinand.

“What do you think of this painting going on display? I understand ‘The von Aegir March’ is an important heirloom for your family?”

“It is,” Ferdinand nods. “But I was all for the exhibition. I mentioned the curator at Fodlan National Gallery — Lorenz — he’s a good friend of mine and we’ve been excited over this exhibition for a while.”

“I see,” Hubert nods. 

If it turns out that Ferdinand is a less honest man, he has created an opportunity for the painting to be stolen. Cargos like paintings are truly most vulnerable during transportation.

Further, injecting himself into the investigation could be his way of keeping track of what the police are up to.

But yet somehow, this doesn’t seem to be in Ferdinand’s nature. Ferdinand, as far as Hubert knows from words of mouth through the galas, is all for the appreciation of art. He contributes a great amount of money to artistic endeavors and to Fodlan National Gallery. As such, the painting being safely displayed at the Fodlan National Gallery seems to be in his interest, not stealing the painting to enjoy all by himself. Besides, if he wants that, why all the trouble? The painting was at his house to begin with.

Still, there’s no harm filing to the back of his head that Ferdinand created that opportunity for the painting to be stolen. Even if Ferdinand isn’t behind the actual crime, this might be connected to someone else in his circle. 

“Who else knows about the transportation taking place, by the way?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand mulls over this point for a few seconds before answering carefully:

“My family knows about it, as well as some of our servants,” he starts. “Then Lorenz and some other museum staff. And the transporters themselves of course.”

“Alright,” Hubert says while he clicks his pen. “Do you think you can send me a list of everyone involved?”

“Of course,” Ferdinand nods. “I think they’re all trustworthy though.”

But it doesn’t matter what Ferdinand thinks. The painting was stolen mid-transportation, which means the perpetrator knew of the schedule and the route. 

Before he can say anything, there’s the sound of Dorothea clearing her throat as she approaches them.

“Hubert,” she calls to him, not using the formality she offered up to Edelgard earlier. “Your witness is here.”

“Raphael Kirsten?” Hubert asks. 

Dorothea nods. 

“He’s in the conference room. I assume that’s alright?”

“Yes, for now he’s a witness, not a suspect,” Hubert says. “Conference room is sufficient.”

“He’s not going to be a suspect,” Ferdinand interjects.

Ferdinand quickly establishes his first impression to be true — he’s truly bright and earnest and trusting of the people who he works with.

“That’s for me to decide, Ferdinand,” Hubert says in reply. 

Unlike Ferdinand, Hubert is constrained and cold. This of course, comes with the job, but he has a feeling that Ferdinand would not accept it as so.

“He’s a good person,” Ferdinand says. “Really torn up about the painting being gone. Be kind to him.”

Hubert shrugs. He picks up his notepad and pen and heads toward the conference room with Ferdinand following behind him.

Upon entering the conference room, Hubert takes a seat in front of Raphael, with Ferdinand next to him.

“Mister Raphael Kirsten,” Hubert says. “Thank you for coming in.”

Ferdinand is right about Raphael being worked up. The large man is fidgeting, cold sweat trailing down his forehead.

But then again, that could be an indicator of a guilty party. As a detective, Hubert cannot overlook anything.

“A-anything,” Raphael stutters. “Anything to help.”

“Don’t worry Raphael,” Ferdinand soothes the man. “You’re here as a witness.”

For now, Hubert thinks but doesn’t add on.

“I want you to recount the events of yesterday,” Hubert says curtly. “Starting from your arrival at the von Aegir’s mansion.”

“Of course,” Raphael nods. “My team and I arrived at around... I think it was 7AM, to transport the painting. We got ready, covering it in cloth as per the procedure. Due to its large size, we had trouble with the first cloth we brought — not big enough. So I went back to the van to bring a bigger one. This one worked and I think just as we finished up, Ferdinand walked by.”

“In my gym clothes,” Ferdinand nods.

So far, this matches Ferdinand’s account, Hubert notes down.

“Afterwards, we carefully took the painting with us to the van. There’s no problem up till this point.”

“Yes,” Hubert nods. “Continue.”

“We drove back to the National Gallery. Around Myrr Street, we had to stop for the red light. That’s when they came.”

“‘They’ being?” Hubert asks.

“The men in ski masks. There were six of them,” Raphael shudders at the memory. “They broke through the back of the van and — I’m a strong man but they all carried guns with them.”

“What happened next?”

“Three of them held us at gunpoint while the other three took the painting out. They were really not careful with it too! I don’t think they’re art people, no, Sir,” Raphael shakes his head.

“It must’ve been terrifying,” Ferdinand says, empathetic to Raphael. 

“I know I should’ve done more, Ferdinand,” Raphael says, turning away from Hubert to talk to the other man. “I should’ve protected the painting.”

“Your life is precious, I really wouldn’t expect you to do anything else in face of gunmen,” Ferdinand says. He speaks so kindly to the other man. So many rich kids would put their belongings over others’ lives, so Hubert is glad to see that at least Ferdinand isn’t that kind of rich kid at all. 

But this isn’t really helping his investigation.

Hubert clears his throat.

“Did you see where they took the painting to?”

Raphael seems surprised at Hubert continuing. Surprised, or he’s simply too taken in by Ferdinand’s kindness.

“I saw a white van, right in front of ours,” Raphael answers after he recollects himself. “But it had no license plate.”

“We’ve put out a search for a white van with no license plate, as per the initial report,” Hubert says. He’s not optimistic in being able to find the van easily, however. They could easily place the license plate back on now, and white vans are a dime a dozen in this city. The true van choice for criminal activity.

Whoever is behind this had definitely considered this, Hubert realizes. There’s probably a good deal of premeditation to this crime — but that’s not entirely unexpected for an art theft. 

This, however, solidifies in Hubert’s mind that the perpetrators have someone on the inside. Someone on the list that Ferdinand is going to send to him.

And Raphael is a potential suspect in this.

“You reported the crime right after?” Hubert asks Raphael.

“Yes, we didn’t waste time at all!” Raphael nods vigorously.

“So the police arrived around 9:15,” Hubert reviews what was told to him earlier that day. “And by that time, the van was already gone.”

“They sped off,” Raphael says. “Past the red light and all.”

“If they sped past a red light, can you get traffic cam photos of them?” Ferdinand asks. Seems like the young man at least has a decent head on his shoulders.

“Likely, yes,” Hubert says. “But if the car has no license plate, it might not help very much. We can at least get the make and model of the van, of course.”

He then turns back to Raphael, the large man making himself smaller under Hubert’s glare.

“Thank you for coming,” Hubert says. Raphael seems surprised at this — perhaps, he’s expecting Hubert to be more harsh with him. People often say Hubert has a harsh glare. “We’ll call you if we need anything else.”

“O-of course,” Raphael bows his head down. He gets up to leave, but Ferdinand stops him.

“Raphael,” he says. “Don’t worry, we’re not blaming you for anything.”

Raphael gives a small smile at Ferdinand’s words, but Hubert, in contrast, glares at Ferdinand for it. He waits until Raphael leaves before speaking:

“Why did you say that? That _we_ aren’t blaming him for anything?”

Ferdinand blinks at Hubert’s sudden annoyance.

“Is that untrue? He’s simply a witness, is he not?”

“We don’t know that,” Hubert grumbles. “ _You_ might not blame him for anything but I still have my reservations regarding that man.”

“He’s innocent,” Ferdinand insists. “I know him.”

“But I don’t,” Hubert says, frustrated. He closes his notepad in annoyance, slamming it against the table to end this conversation with Ferdinand. Grumbling, he makes his way outside and Ferdinand trails behind him quietly.

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Ferdinand asks quietly as soon as they get to his desk.

Hubert says nothing to this. They’re investigating a theft. Of course he can’t trust anyone. He can’t even trust Ferdinand and his sweet, earnest eyes. Ferdinand who speaks so kindly and gently to Raphael in that conference room.

“I’m sorry for you,” Ferdinand continues. “Shouldn’t you trust a witness? Especially one so shaken by the incident!”

“In my line of work,” Hubert says between gritted teeth. “The line between witness and suspect is a thin one.”

“Well,” Ferdinand crosses his arm. “I believe in Raphael.”

Hubert throws up his hand, not wanting to argue further with Ferdinand. No matter what he says, no matter how much he explains his side, Ferdinand will continue to say Raphael is innocent anyway.

“We’ll be going to your mansion next,” Hubert says instead, changing the subject. “I’d like to talk to your father. Would he be home?”

“He should be,” Ferdinand nods, apparently not wanting to argue any further at this moment too. “He’s pretty shaken by the loss of ‘The von Aegir March’ too.”

“Is he now?” Hubert mutters.

“Don’t tell me,” Ferdinand sighs. “You suspect my father too?”

Hubert doesn’t answer that. Besides, he knows Ferdinand knows what he would say if he’s to speak the truth.

Ferdinand shakes his head in disbelief.

“He owns that painting, why would he steal something he himself owns?”

“I don’t know,” Hubert shrugs. “Perhaps he’s against the exhibition at the last minute.”

“It must be tiring being you,” Ferdinand says with a frown on his face. “Suspecting everything and everyone.”

“It’s my job, Ferdinand,” now it is Hubert’s turn to sigh. “Come on, we should go to your place.”

Hubert opens the large bottom drawer of his desk and digs around for something. It doesn’t take him long to find it. He grabs it and tosses it to Ferdinand.

A motorcycle helmet.

“What’s this?” Ferdinand furrows his eyebrows.

“Traffic law says you have to wear a helmet on a motorbike,” Hubert says with a shrug. “That’s for you.”

“We’re using a motorbike?” Ferdinand sounds genuinely surprised. “Wait, that’s how you get around?”

“Yes?” Hubert says, somewhat annoyed by Ferdinand’s surprise. As someone who usually works solo, his motorcycle has been more useful to him than the department car. It’s speedy and doesn’t get stuck in traffic. 

Hubert gets up to leave. 

“Do you want to come or not?”

“You’re going to my house,” Ferdinand laughs softly. “Why would I not come?”

He follows on behind Hubert, the motorcycle helmet under his arms. 

They head out together, toward where it all began.

The von Aegir mansion was built a long time ago, but it exudes luxury to this very day. Located at the edge of town, the mansion is surrounded by a beautiful garden. The air is much cleaner than that of the inner city as well, almost giving the mansion a rather surreal feel to it.

“Home sweet home,” Ferdinand says as he climbs off Hubert’s bike.

Hubert did not know what to expect of Ferdinand as a tandem rider, but he was cooperative, turning his body in time whenever they curved. Ferdinand stuck close, his muscular chest pressing against Hubert’s back.

That was slightly distracting, but Hubert still operated his bike safely and properly. Besides, what could he tell Ferdinand about that? _Your big bosom is distracting_? No way Hubert is going to say something like that to Ferdinand’s face.

He parks his bike as instructed by one of the servants, then he joins Ferdinand at the front door of the mansion.

“I’d like to see where the painting was,” Hubert says.

“Of course,” Ferdinand replies. “Come on in. I’ll be your guide.”

They enter the mansion to see servants carrying furniture and paintings up and down the stairs. Giving them instructions from on top of the stairwell is a pudgy, balding man wearing branded polo shirt and shorts.

“Father,” Ferdinand calls out to the man. “I’m here with the detective.”

So this is Ludwig von Aegir. 

Like his son, Ludwig von Aegir is a famous figure in their city. Their bloodline is one that can be traced to the founding of the country, as evidenced by ‘The von Aegir March’, but Ludwig himself is also famous for being a competent importer with relations to most of the city’s elites. 

“Redecorating, Mister von Aegir?” Hubert asks right away.

“Yes,” Ludwig doesn’t seem to mind that Hubert skips the formalities. “I’m worried for the rest of our collection after the stealing of ‘The von Aegir March’, so I’m taking stock and moving things around.”

“A good idea!” Ferdinand nods vigorously. 

‘The von Aegir March’ is a priceless painting, but this family owns more artwork and antiques than can be easily accounted for. Hubert watches as servants carry down an elegant wooden desk down the stairs.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Mister von Aegir?”

“That’s a waste of time,” Ludwig complains. “Shouldn’t you look for the men in the ski masks?”

“Father, please, they have to cover all bases,” Ferdinand objects.

Hubert appreciates that from Ferdinand. He’s glad that at least on this, Ferdinand takes his side over his father’s.

Ludwig grumbles as he makes his way down the stairs. Unlike his elegant, bright son, Ludwig seems to struggle with his own weight as he makes his way down.

“Alright then,” he says, not trying to hide his displeasure. “How may I help you, Detective?”

“Can I please have your account of the day?”

Hubert readies his notepad and pen. 

“I was woken up early that day by the butler — around six in the morning. This was as the curator from the National Gallery told me that his transporter would arrive by seven. I had my breakfast then I went to check on ‘The von Aegir March’. I’m quite fond of that painting you know.”

“And are you against or for the exhibition?” Hubert asks.

“Oh, father is all for it,” Ferdinand interjects. This causes Hubert to glare at Ferdinand. He’s not asking Ferdinand after all — he’s asking Ludwig. Ferdinand seems to get the message as he clears his throat. “Tell him about it, father.”

“Yes, yes. As Ferdinand said, I’m all for it. This historic painting has never gone on an exhibition before — our ancestors are quite protective of it.”

“But with this exhibition being the 200th anniversary of Fodlan’s independence and unity, I thought it would be a perfect time to display it to the world,” Ferdinand adds on. 

“I agreed with Ferdinand and discussion for the painting’s lending was underway almost right away,” Ludwig says. “Lorenz from the National Gallery can attest for this.”

“Thank you,” Hubert says. Once again, Lorenz is mentioned. Hubert makes a quick mental note that this is definitely someone he has to talk to. “Anyway, back to your account of the day. So the transporters arrived on time?”

“They were late by around ten minutes,” Ludwig grumbles. “I remember this because I was quite annoyed at them for it.”

“I see,” Hubert notes down. “And regarding the cloth to cover it?”

“Yes, they got the size wrong the first time!” Ludwig exclaims unhappily. “But they brought a different cloth after and it worked just fine. That was around when Ferdinand walked by, I think.”

Hubert nods. This lines up with all the testimonies so far. 

“Can you show me where the painting was displayed?”

“Of course,” it’s Ferdinand who answers, not his father. “Father, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Go ahead, there’s nothing there now,” Ludwig shrugs.

Ferdinand leads the way to the right of the entrance. They go through a hall filled with paintings of the von Aegir’s family members.

“Our family has always been a patron of the arts,” Ferdinand explains proudly. Seems like Ferdinand is continuing the family’s passion for arts in his own way, by donating and organizing exhibitions. 

Then, he stops in front of a large empty space at the wall.

“This is where ‘The von Aegir March’ was displayed. My father’s main study is just to your right.”

“I see.”

Hubert takes notes of the area. It is well lit from the window across it and surely it’s easy to see the painting from the window outside. The space left is large — more than the size of a man.

Yet the crooks who stole it managed to take it away at a red light. Only three of them carried it off as well.

There must be something with Myrr Street that made them choose it as a location. It’s probably worth checking out after this. 

“Well?” Ferdinand asks. “Did you figure anything out?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Hubert sighs. Civilians thinking he just gets sudden inspiration is troublesome in this way. “How’s that list of everyone who knows about the painting’s transportation.”

Ferdinand checks his phone.

“The butler has sent you the list from our side,” Ferdinand reports. He keeps operating his phone. “And it seems like Lorenz did as well, for those on the museum’s side.”

“I see,” Hubert replies coolly. 

The next step would be to review the lists and see if there’s anyone with motive and opportunity.

“Speaking of which,” he says. “We probably have to see Lorenz tomorrow morning. I want to review the lists first before meeting with him.”

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, his face seemingly crestfallen.

“What is it?”

“I can help you make an appointment with him for tomorrow morning,” Ferdinand says. “But can we stop by a florist on the way back to your station?”

“The florist?” Hubert raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t go empty-handed when meeting Lorenz.”

Ferdinand smiles wryly.

For a second, Hubert wonders if he’s joking. But his unchanging expression shows how serious he is about it.

“Fine,” Hubert grumbles. “We’ll go to the florist.”

There’s a florist on Myrr Street, and Hubert takes the opportunity to observe the traffic light once they get there.

Due to the position and flow of traffic in the area, it is without a doubt that this is a good place to grab the painting — the red light runs for a long time, only to change to green very briefly. 

Satisfied with this finding, Hubert enters the florist where Ferdinand is.

“No, no, you can have it.”

He hears Ferdinand’s voice right away. He’s handing a bouquet of cosmos and daisies to a large blond man. 

“You picked it up first,” the blond man says awkwardly. 

“But you want it right? I can pick something else, don’t worry!” Ferdinand assures. 

The blond man mutters something in return to Ferdinand. He then turns around and walks past Hubert, cradling a bouquet in his arms.

There’s something about his presence that sends a soft shiver down Hubert’s spine. After years on the job, Hubert has developed some sort of intuition of people who aren’t quite right, and that’s exactly how he feels regarding this blond man.

But the blond man says nothing. He simply walks past, his steps seemingly heavy. Hubert turns back to see him enter the back seat of a car.

Another rich person? Hubert wonders. The car is an expensive import model, and even that aside, one has to be well-off to afford a chauffeur.

“Is that okay?” Hubert asks Ferdinand. “That’s the bouquet for Lorenz, right?”

Ferdinand waves it off. He picks up a small teddy bear with a flower crown on it from near the cash register and smiles.

“This would work just as well for Lorenz. That man seemed like he really wanted that particular bouquet.”

“If you’re sure then,” Hubert says. He looks back again to see that the blond man’s car is no longer in front of the shop. “So you don’t know him?”

“Not all rich people know each other,” Ferdinand laughs. “No, I don’t know him. As I said, he just seemed like he really wanted that bouquet.”

Helping out a stranger, huh? That’s not a behavior Hubert usually associates with these rich elites. 

“I’m heading back to the station,” Hubert says. “But my work from here on will be very boring. I’m just going through the personal data of everyone who knows about the transportation of the painting.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Ferdinand says. “I know these people. I’ll be able to give you more information on them.”

Hubert sighs. 

“Really, it’s going to be very dry,” Hubert says. It’ll be nothing like how rich kids would imagine detective work, with all the sharp observations and action from their films and TV shows. 

Despite his coldness, Ferdinand looks at him earnestly with a gentle smile.

“But it’s part of your job,” Ferdinand says. “Part of _the_ job, and if I’m to help, I have to be helpful for everything, not just the parts that can escape the actual grind.”

Once again, Ferdinand surprises Hubert. He has not expected to hear that from Ferdinand. No, he expects Ferdinand to not understand combing through data with a fine-toothed comb is part of the grind.

“I’ll be helpful,” Ferdinand continues. “Really. I can tell you what the data doesn’t have on these people.”

Hubert clicks his tongue. 

“Suit yourself then.”

Ferdinand’s smile widens at the words from Hubert. He hurries to pay for the small teddy bear before following Hubert out of the florist.

The list of names is ready on Hubert’s computer once he gets back. Ferdinand settles himself next to Hubert with a plate of cookies and a mug of tea as Hubert pulls up the list. Hubert himself puts on his glasses, one he always uses whenever using the computer. 

“Let’s start with the list from the gallery,” Hubert says and Ferdinand nods in agreement. He pulls up the data for the curator, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. A member of a distinguished family, Lorenz studied art history. His connection is what eventually landed him a job as a curator for Fodlan National Gallery, but it seems like his work for it has been well-received.

“No one is more excited for the exhibition than Lorenz,” Ferdinand says, almost sounding proud of his friend. But then, he clears his throat. “He really wants it to happen you see. After all, it would be the first public display of ‘The von Aegir March’, and it would look good on his resume.”

That’s a fair, relatively objective view on Lorenz.

“So he would benefit more from the painting reaching the National Gallery,” Hubert muses. 

“Exactly,” Ferdinand says. “He’s not hard-pressed for money, but there are still people who think he’s incapable of his job, only holding it because of his parents. This exhibition — ‘200 Years of Fodlan’ is meant to make a mark for himself as a curator.” 

Hubert hums as he goes down the list to another name.

“Ignatz Victor,” he reads. “Assistant to Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.”

“Ignatz!” Ferdinand exclaims. “A very talented young man.”

There seems to be little public record about Ignatz. A model citizen and one without any considerable debt. Not even a single parking ticket. 

Clean as a whistle. But a great amount of money can always tempt anyone.

“He’s from a decent family,” Ferdinand says. “As far as I know, anyway. His job as the assistant to a curator is stable too. But such a bad incident would make him worry about it.”

“Would it?” Hubert asks.

“Yes, it doesn’t exactly reflect well on the curator or his assistant if a loaned painting is stolen en route,” Ferdinand says. “Not like this is a common occurrence or anything, but the Gallery would like to show people lending their artwork that it would be safe.”

“But you don’t blame them at all?” Hubert looks at Ferdinand, watching his reaction carefully.

Yet there’s nothing but sympathy in Ferdinand’s face. Sympathy for these two people who had gotten in trouble because the painting had gone missing.

“It’s difficult to convince people to part with their artwork to begin with,” Ferdinand says. “Even if it’s for a good cause like a public exhibition.”

So at least to Ferdinand, there’s little cause for these two to want the painting stolen. 

Still, the artsy type can be rather unpredictable in Hubert’s experience. Perhaps one of these two — or both of them — want to keep the painting for themselves for their own reasons. He knows Ferdinand would object to him, so he keeps quiet on his suspicion. 

He suspects just about anyone. That’s what Ferdinand said about him.

And he’s not denying that. In his eyes, anyone could be a suspect. That’s how he operates.

The crooks who stole the painting didn’t seem like they took good care of it. That’s what Raphael said. But with this kind of crime, it’s more likely than not that they’re simply hired hands.

“Alright, let’s go on to the next person,” Hubert says. 

Ferdinand leans in and gasps as he sees the picture.

“No, it can’t be him!”

Where Hubert sees the world as full of suspects, Ferdinand keeps thinking the best in people.

Perhaps, that would come to use for Hubert.

Hubert fell asleep on his desk that night, going through the records of each and every person who knows of the painting’s transportation schedule. So far, no one’s really shown a strong motive for it, at least, not according to Ferdinand.

But Hubert knows money speaks, so on that point, the suspect could just be about anyone.

Neither his pessimism nor Ferdinand’s optimism helped in narrowing the suspect pool, however, and they talked and argued until long after everyone else went home. 

Eventually, Hubert drifted off to sleep on his desk. A moment with a lack of guard that was so unbecoming of him.

“Morning,” a cheery voice greets him as he opens his heavy lids. 

The first thing he sees that morning is Ferdinand von Aegir’s chest, tightly fitting his button-up shirt.

Hubert quickly finds himself flustered, slightly blushing red. He adjusts his glasses as he pulls himself up on his chair.

“Good morning,” he replies coolly. Or at least, that’s how he tried to come across.

“I brought you coffee,” Ferdinand says. “Coffee, black. You seem like that sort of guy.”

Ferdinand isn’t wrong. Coffee, black is exactly Hubert’s choice of morning beverage. He lets Ferdinand place the coffee on his desk.

Unlike Hubert, who likely looks like hell, Ferdinand doesn’t look like he just spent all night going through the files with Hubert, arguing and discussing each person until past midnight. Ferdinand is in fact, no longer wearing the same clothes he did yesterday, which means he actually had time to go home and get changed. 

“How much coffee have you had?” Hubert grumbles as he struggles to his own cup. He takes a sip of the dark liquid.

“None,” Ferdinand laughs. God, his laugh is so pretty, a thought that can only cross Hubert’s mind in his sleepy state. “I’m a tea person.”

Of course he is. 

“So,” Ferdinand starts. “We’re going to see Lorenz today, right?”

“Right,” Hubert says. He’s still not fully awake yet but he can at least register what Ferdinand is saying. He clicks on the mouse to bring his computer out of its screen-saver mode, checking the clock to be eight in the morning. “We’re meeting him around nine?”

“Shouldn’t you go get ready?” Ferdinand says. “Lorenz is fussy. He likes things... well-presented.”

And Hubert who looks like hell after sleeping at his desk isn’t well-presented.

“I’ve spare clothes in my locker,” Hubert says. Then, he downs the rest of the coffee. “Wait here.”

Ferdinand waves to him as he leaves his desk. This isn’t Hubert’s first time staying at the office past his work hours. In fact, he does it often enough he always makes sure to have clean clothes in his locker. This Lorenz aside, people are always more willing to talk at length to him if he isn’t wearing yesterday’s clothes and stinking like a police station.

It doesn’t take him long to get changed into a new set of clothes. He even wears a tie, remembering how Ferdinand says Lorenz likes things well-presented.

Ferdinand smiles at this.

“So you are listening to me,” he says as he steps closer to Hubert. He reaches out and straightens Hubert’s tie, patting it down to his chest. “There. That’s better.”

“Because Lorenz is the type to fuss over how straight my tie is?” Hubert raises his eyebrow.

“You’ll see when you meet him,” Ferdinand says, his words accompanied by an amused chuckle. 

Before Hubert could hand him the extra motorcycle helmet, Ferdinand picks it up from Hubert’s desk. 

“We’re going by your bike again right?” Ferdinand asks.

He does not seem to have noticed that he was distracting as a tandem rider to Hubert the other day.

“Yes,” Hubert says simply. He grabs his own helmet and heads toward the exit, Ferdinand following behind him.

To say Lorenz presents himself well is an understatement. Hubert wonders if he dresses like this everyday — a purple suit to match his hair, complete with cravat — or did he purposely pick this out knowing that Hubert and Ferdinand are coming.

Hubert is inclined to believe it’s the former.

Ferdinand greets Lorenz first, cheerfully like he would greet any friend at any other time, passing the teddy bear over to the other man.

“Most terrible situation, Ferdinand,” Lorenz says with a sigh as soon as they get their greetings out of the way. He squeezes the teddy bear from Ferdinand, showing his frayed nerves. “On behalf of the gallery, we are truly sorry about what happened.”

“It’s not your fault Lorenz,” Ferdinand says. Again he says it’s not someone else’s fault, even if that someone is still in Hubert’s suspect list.

“Mister Gloucester,” Hubert interrupts. “I do have some questions regarding the painting.”

“And you must be,” Lorenz pauses. His eyes study Hubert up and down, and from his expression, he’s not impressed by what he sees.

Which doesn’t matter, Hubert knows. Lorenz doesn’t have to be impressed as long as he lets Hubert question him.

“This is Detective Hubert von Vestra, with white collar crime division,” Ferdinand introduces. This gains him a wary nod from Lorenz. 

“And shouldn’t the detective know about the painting?”

“It’s not possible for me to know about every painting,” Hubert says patiently. 

This earns him a wide-eyed surprise from Lorenz.

“But this isn’t just any painting, it’s ‘The von Aegir March’! Absolutely a priceless piece.”

“It’s priceless?” Hubert raises an eyebrow.

“It would be extremely hard to sell,” Lorenz sighs. “Its value is not fully determined, even insuring the painting was extremely difficult.”

“So this painting is insured?”

“Recently, yes,” Ferdinand nods. “We made sure of that before lending it to the museum.”

“And whose idea is that?” 

“My father’s,” Ferdinand answers. “But surely you understand, after all, it is a priceless family heirloom.”

Hubert nods. He has no need to tell Ferdinand more than that, because without a doubt, Ferdinand would say that this means nothing and his father’s actions are natural.

He files the information at the back of his head as he continues to question Lorenz.

“I went through the files for your personnel the other day,” Hubert says. “But would there be anyone who benefits from the painting being gone, at least, in your opinion?”

“My rival curators,” Lorenz answers dramatically. “They do not want to see this exhibition succeed.”

Ah, more suspects. Hubert notes his down on his notepad.

“Would they know of the transportation times?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be too hard to find out,” Lorenz considers. “They might be able to access my records while I’m away, or perhaps slyly ask one of my staff members.”

“I need you to send me a list of names of everyone you might suspect,” Hubert says.

Lorenz is about to say something else, and it’s nothing good judging from his expression. But Ferdinand squeezes the other man’s arm.

“Please, Lorenz,” he says preemptively. “Detective von Vestra is the best in his department. Your full cooperation would be very much appreciated.”

“Very well,” Lorenz sighs. “Only because Ferdinand says so. But it’s a pretty long list.”

“That’s fine,” Hubert says. Better to start somewhere than nowhere at all.

“Lorenz here,” Ferdinand says, his warm voice interjecting between the coldness between Hubert and Lorenz. “Knows much about the painting. There’s no one in Fodlan more knowledgeable than he.”

“Oh?” Hubert raises an eyebrow.

“I would say Ferdinand exaggerates, but no,” Lorenz says proudly. “My research is regarding paintings depicting Fodlan’s War of Independence, hence, my knowledge on such paintings.”

“Where does ‘The von Aegir March’ fit into it?” Hubert asks.

“As I said, it’s truly a priceless painting,” Lorenz says. “Not so much for the artistic value, but more for the historic value. Those who are connoisseurs of art for art itself might not like it as much, but history buffs... History buffs could see the value of the painting. It relates closely, after all, to how the von Aegirs present themselves over the history of Fodlan.”

“Can’t deny that,” Ferdinand says with a wry smile. “We’re a noble family, and we take pride in it.”

“No one values that painting more than the von Aegirs,” Lorenz nods. “That’s why the gallery is honored to be allowed to borrow it. If only such a tragedy didn’t happen we would have a most wonderful exhibition.”

“Once we retrieve it, we will still lend the painting to the gallery,” Ferdinand promises. Again with these careless words. Hubert holds back a sigh at Ferdinand’s attitude.

“I would understand if your father doesn’t want to,” Lorenz, meanwhile, doesn’t hold back his dramatic sighs.

Hubert notes this down. It seems like the painting is important to both the von Aegirs and at least this particular museum curator. But the fact that it isn’t exactly an artistic masterpiece interests him. Likely then, it isn’t a painting that can be sold on its artistic value. Perhaps someone who’s a collector of Fodlan historical items is the one behind it over a regular art collector.

But as of now, they haven’t even established how the information regarding the painting’s transportation got out. That could be their avenue in, and this new list Lorenz is sending them could truly help.

“If possible, I’d like the list of people you might suspect by today,” Hubert says.

“Of course,” Lorenz replies. “I want this sorted as quickly as anyone else.”

“Thank you for your time, Mister Gloucester,” Hubert says while closing his notepad. That should be all they could get out of Lorenz for now. The context of the painting and possible suspects who might want to ruin the exhibition are as good as any.

He shakes Lorenz’s hand before heading off to the exit, Ferdinand following on after him.

“So you’re going through everyone again, like last night?” Ferdinand asks.

“I’m sorry if detective work isn’t exciting enough for you,” Hubert replies.

Hubert expects Ferdinand to get tired with how he does things. After all, white collar crime division’s work is a lot of carefully going through everything with a fine-toothed comb and a lot less running around playing action hero.

“It’s fine,” Ferdinand says. “I’d still like to help.”

Hubert says nothing, but it’s true that Ferdinand showing him the other side of every person has been helping. It gives him a better picture of each of their suspects. Not to say Ferdinand erases Hubert’s doubts in everyone — it’s just a more well-rounded view, and Hubert appreciates that.

The two of them walk toward where Hubert parked his bike.

Just as they’re about to pick up their respective helmets, a black car rushes in to park in front of them.

The driver-seat window slides down to reveal a young man with dark blue hair and sharp features. He glares at the two of them.

“Get in.” He says without any eloquence.

“Excuse me?” Ferdinand replies. He takes a step back, closer to Hubert.

But it’s not like Hubert can protect him. Being in white collar, Hubert doesn’t usually bring a gun with him and he’s pretty rusty in his martial arts.

The back door of the black car opens, revealing a large, white-haired man and a redhead. The two of them grab Ferdinand and Hubert, tossing them into the car’s backseat with them.

“Just stay still,” the larger man says, his voice gentle. 

The redhead closes the door behind them, making sure it’s properly locked.

With that, the man in the driver seat speeds off, leaving the gallery behind.

They’re tossed to the seat facing the driver, while the two men who grabbed them sit across them, nearer to the door than they are. There’s no use struggling, Hubert realizes. Whatever it is, these two will make sure they stay in the car.

It’s a quiet ride to wherever the three men are taking them. Hubert signals for Ferdinand to stay quiet, which Ferdinand thankfully understands and follows through. Meanwhile, Hubert studies the men in front of them.

All of them are wearing black suits and ties. They could belong to any organization, legal or otherwise. 

“Hey,” the red-haired man says with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t think this is anything bad.”

You forced us into this car, Hubert thinks, but he doesn’t reply. He tries to look outside the window, but the window of the car is tinted black, making it impossible to see outside. 

Eventually, the car goes down a ramp, which Hubert guesses is them entering the basement parking lot of a building. Hubert glances at Ferdinand who sits quietly, his eyes unusually wary as he looks at the men in front of them.

The car then parallel-parks. 

“Don’t struggle and follow us,” the redhead says. “I wouldn’t want to tie up such important guests, much less hurt you.”

“You’re scaring them, Sylvain,” the other man said.

“Aw, Dedue, but I’m just telling the truth,” Sylvain says. He then turns to Hubert and Ferdinand and grins. “Now you know our names, feeling acquainted with us yet?”

“Where are you taking us?” Ferdinand finally says.

“We’ve arrived,” Sylvain says with an easy shrug. “Anyway, just do what I say and no one would have to get hurt.”

The driver opens the door, and as he does so, he purposely raises his hand, showing a sword sheathed by his side. Sylvain and Dedue are probably armed as well, Hubert realizes. He leans close to Ferdinand and whispers:

“I think we should do what they say for now, I’ll think of something.”

Ferdinand nods nervously in reply.

The two of them are escorted toward an elevator by the three men. The five of them enter, with Sylvain pressing the button for the 33rd floor.

Having gone from a nondescript parking lot to a nondescript elevator, Hubert can’t tell exactly where they are. But with how these men are not tying them or anything, it seems true that they will not hurt them as long as they do what’s told.

They’re escorted off the elevator to a simple hallway. They move forward toward an area that seems to be a living room. It’s not luxuriously furnished, but the view outside the window is beautiful.

“Sit down,” Sylvain instructs. Once Ferdinand and Hubert sit on the sofa, Sylvain and the driver stand on either side of them. Meanwhile, Dedue leaves to another room.

“I heard you’re scaring my guests, Sylvain,” a moment later, a voice can be heard from the other room before the form of the speaker is visible to them.

“Aw, I was just having fun,” Sylvain says. “Besides, Felix here started it with his creepy ‘get in’.”

The voice sighs. He steps forward so he’s visible under the light of the living room, with Dedue following on behind him.

The blond man is large, his hair messily falling down almost to his shoulder. He wears an eyepatch and unlike the formal suits his men wear, he’s wearing a form fitting T-shirt and jeans. He slumps down on the arm chair across from Ferdinand and Hubert, Dedue standing dutifully by his side.

“Ah,” Ferdinand exclaims. “You’re from the florist the other day!”

Hubert blinks. 

He didn’t catch a good look at the man Ferdinand was talking to at the florist to form much of an impression of him besides the chill running down his spine from his presence. Despite that, he isn’t so alarmed by him that his impression could ever be ‘would kidnap them the day after’.

“Sorry for my men,” the man says. “I’m Dimitri. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.”

Hubert’s eyes widens. He’s heard of this name before from his friends at organized crime. A crime lord they can’t quite catch — one who’s strangely benevolent to orphans despite his illicit activities.

“I see you know me, Detective von Vestra,” Dimitri smiles. “I hope Sylvain told you we’re not here to hurt you.”

“I did!” Sylvain pipes in. 

“What do you want from us?” Hubert asks warily.

Dimitri laughs.

“I’m not blaming you for being so guarded, but,” Dimitri shrugs. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help you.”

“Help us?” Hubert is aware of how disbelieving his own voice is.

“You’re looking for that painting, aren’t you?” Dimitri says. “‘The von Aegir March’.”

“How did you know?” Ferdinand asks.

“I have my sources,” Dimitri says. “And I have sources locating the painting too.”

“You do?!” Ferdinand says out loud excitedly. But under Hubert’s glare, he then clears his throat and sits back, trying to appear calm. “You do?”

“I’ve arranged for the sale,” Dimitri says. He hands them a card with an address on it. “If you go to this motel, your suspects will meet you there.”

Ferdinand is about to jump out of his seat again, but Hubert places an arm in front of him to calm him down.

“Why are you helping us?” Hubert asks coolly.

“I’m not particularly interested in helping _you_ , Detective von Vestra,” Dimitri says. “Surely you know of my distaste for the police.”

“Then—“

“I’m helping _him_ ,” Dimitri points at Ferdinand. “Just as he helped me yesterday.”

Ferdinand blinks rapidly at this, shaking his head.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You let me have that bouquet,” Dimitri says. “My mother’s favorite bouquet, on the anniversary of her passing away.”

Hubert raises an eyebrow at this.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Dimitri says. “Sometimes, the smallest gesture leaves an impression. That’s what your friend here did. He was kind, and I want to repay that kindness.”

“You really didn’t have to,” Ferdinand flusters. “But... thank you Dimitri.”

“The painting is important to your family, that’s what I understand,” Dimitri says. “And the flowers are important to mine. It works out.”

“Thank you,” Ferdinand says again, bowing his head slightly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Where did you find this painting?” Hubert asks instead.

“I have connections you don’t,” Dimitri says. 

Meaning, the black market. Looks like the crooks didn’t waste time trying to sell the painting off. 

In that case, then are they not hired by a particular someone to take it? Did they simply take ‘The von Aegir March’ out of convenience to sell later, not knowing much about its lack of artistic values? 

These are questions Dimitri would not be able to answer. From the bare walls of the room, it does not seem like this particular crime lord is an art aficionado. 

Hubert takes the card Dimitri gives to them. It has the address of a motel on the edge of town, with the time 4AM and the room number 107 written down on it. 

He supposes he shouldn’t deny this sudden gift horse.

“I wasn’t sure about you, Detective von Vestra,” Dimitri continues. “So I booked that room and the meeting under Ferdinand’s name.”

“Under my name?” Ferdinand echoes Dimitri, who nods back at him. 

“Under ‘Ferdinand’, no surname. I don’t think it matters too much for this kind of motel as long as you pay them, but,” Dimitri clears his throat. “I’m not very good at giving fake names.”

“That’s perfectly fine!” Ferdinand says. “I’ll be going with Hubert anyway!”

That much isn’t decided, Hubert thinks. But Ferdinand would now get his way into it, despite the dangers it might hold.

“That should be all of it,” Dimitri says. “Sylvain, Felix, see our guests off. Take them to the gallery to get their bike, then Detective von Vestra can apply for a gun at the station.”

“For a gun?” Ferdinand asks, then he looks to Hubert.

“I can use it, you know,” Hubert sighs. “And Dimitri here wants me to protect you. Isn’t that right?”

“A good man like your friend is rare,” Dimitri says as he gets up from his armchair, signaling the end of their conversation. “You better take care of him.”

He expects no reply from Hubert on this, surely. And just like that, Dimitri disappears into another room of his flat, followed by Dedue.

“Right, up you go,” Sylvain says. The other man — the driver, presumably Felix — grumbles. “Be careful with these crooks, they did have guns, didn’t they?”

“How did you know that?” Ferdinand asks, amazed. 

Spilling details of their case to a crime family doesn’t seem wise, but all Hubert can do at this point is sigh.

“Sources,” Sylvain grins. He pats Hubert’s back. “Don’t worry, I mean it when I said I already knew.”

Sylvain and Felix escort Ferdinand and Hubert to the elevator then he presses the basement button. Getting to the basement, Sylvain herds them both into the car, with Felix getting into the driver seat.

“To the gallery to get your bike, then you two better head to the station right away,” Sylvain states. No question on if they want to go elsewhere. After all, his instructions come from Dimitri, and that’s where Dimitri wants them to go.

Sylvain makes light-hearted conversations with Ferdinand on their way back to the gallery, but Hubert remains quiet, studying the card given to him by Dimitri. 

“Dimitri means it, you know,” Sylvain suddenly says, surprising Hubert. “He really wants to help.”

“He’s a good man,” Ferdinand says enthusiastically. 

Sylvain lets out an amused laugh at this. Hubert supposes, it’s not often that a crime boss is described as a good man, not even in front of his underlings.

“Just go to that address. It’ll work out,” Sylvain assures.

Hubert huffs quietly as he pockets the card.

He ignores the conversation between Sylvain and Ferdinand. It seems like they’re talking about art in general and some time during the exchange, the two of them trade phone numbers. 

Somehow, it is just like Ferdinand to make friends with someone who just kidnapped him, even if it’s for a good reason. 

The car pulls to a stop, and even though Hubert can’t see through the tinted window, he can guess that they’ve arrived at the gallery.

Sylvain opens the door for them and Hubert gets out wordlessly.

“I’ll contact you! Once the exhibition is done, you simply must come,” Ferdinand says happily to Sylvain as he gets out. 

“Of course,” Sylvain waves. “Nice talking to you Ferdinand.”

With that, he closes the door and the black car speeds off without any hesitation, 

“That was good,” Ferdinand says brightly. There’s nothing left of his nervousness from being taken into a strange car. No, all he has now is friendship with members of the organized crime. 

He walks over to Hubert’s bike, and Hubert follows on behind him.

“We should head back to the station,” Hubert says curtly. 

“Now that we have more information,” Ferdinand nods cheerfully. He waits until Hubert mounts his bike before getting on behind Hubert. He presses close to Hubert.

Despite how bright and cheery Ferdinand seems, his heart is still beating so fast. 

Is he hiding his nervousness of their encounter with the crime family? Hubert can only wonder. But the way Ferdinand’s heart rushes reminds him that Ferdinand is only a civilian after all.

He clicks his tongue, realizing that Dimitri is right.

He should get that gun from the station.

“You encountered who?” Edelgard’s eyes widen when Hubert makes his report, together with applying for a gun loan from the station.

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” Hubert says with a sigh. “Turns out he took a liking to Ferdinand.”

“Blue Lions Group’s Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” Edelgard murmurs. “I know Ferdinand would have friends in high places, but this is unexpected.”

“He gave us this address,” Hubert shows the card to Edelgard. “He says they’re willing to make the exchange for the painting for cash here.”

Edelgard studies the card, reading through every word written on it carefully.

“What do you want to do, Hubert?” She asks. “This lead — I’m not sure how credible it is, considering the source.”

“I think it’s worth following up on,” Hubert says. “I don’t think Dimitri wanted to help us, mind, but I feel like he really meant it when he said he wanted to help Ferdinand.”

Edelgard hums at Hubert’s words. She falls quiet, mulling over what he said.

“I do agree that you should go in there armed,” she finally says, her voice sure and steady. “But I definitely can’t let you go in alone. Especially because this one witness — Mister Kirsten? —- said that they were armed as well.”

“We can have plain-clothes surrounding the motel,” Hubert suggests. He agrees with Edelgard, but having police cars surround the motel might spook them during the handover. 

“That’s a sound plan,” Edelgard nods. “You should leave Ferdinand behind, it could get dangerous.”

“I would, but,” Hubert sighs in between his words. “He seems intent on going.”

Edelgard frowns at this. It’s true that Ferdinand has signed a waiver, but the department would still be in hot water if he’s to get hurt. He is the mayor’s assistant’s godson, and the heir to the prestigious von Aegir line.

“He said he will sign whatever needed to get him out there.”

“If he’s that pushy about it,” Edelgard sighs. “Just get him to wear a bulletproof vest or something.”

Hubert bows and shows himself out of the captain’s office. As soon as he steps out, he finds himself face-to-face with a smiling Ferdinand.

“Well?” Ferdinand asks.

“Well, what?” Hubert says in return. 

“What did she say?”

“She said you can go,” Hubert says. “But I want you to hold back, leave it to us professionals. And to wear a bulletproof vest under your clothes.”

“Wouldn’t a bunch of police officers scare them? Maybe it’s better for it to just be me.”

“Definitely not,” Hubert’s reply comes quickly. He’s not letting Ferdinand walk into that alone — that much is suicidal. “Listen to me; you’re to stay behind me, got it?”

“Alright, alright,” Ferdinand throws his hands up. “I do have some martial arts skills, you know.”

“They’re still dangerous criminals,” Hubert glares down at Ferdinand. “And you’re still a civilian, untrained for this. Just be glad you at least get to come along.”

Ferdinand holds up both hands.

“I got it, really.”

“Just wait at my desk. I’ve to go get my gun and the bulletproof vests.”

Ferdinand doesn’t question him anymore than that. He walks back to Hubert’s desk. 

Hubert looks back to Ferdinand, sitting with his legs crossed, bouncing slightly as he looks around the station.

He really hopes Ferdinand would listen to him this time.

But a part of him can imagine Ferdinand, with all his charms, could manage to even talk down the crooks who had stolen from his family.

It would be good if that much is true, Hubert snorts thinking about it as he enters the armory of their department, shutting the door and losing Ferdinand out of his sight.

Just like Dimitri told them, the motel did not make a fuss about them taking up room 107 after they paid the fee for the night. 

It is one of those typical run-down motels, the kind shady deals go down in. Really, what they’re doing is a shady deal anyway, so it fits right into this environment.

“They won’t be here till 4,” Ferdinand says. “4AM. We have plenty of time until then.”

Indeed. After all, they arrive at around 7. There’s no sight of the white van Raphael described in the parking lot. 

The motel room itself is nothing much to speak of. In the center of the room is a double-bed, and there’s a tiny TV that doesn’t look like it belonged in this generation at all. Hubert even has his doubts on whether or not that television would work.

Not that they’re here to watch television.

The plain-clothes officers are parked around the motel’s parking lot, with a couple of them taking room 106 and 108 next to them.

“You should rest,” Ferdinand says after he observes the room. “You didn’t sleep well last night, didn’t you?”

“The same goes to you,” Hubert replies. “How many cups of tea did you drink to retain all your cheer?”

Ferdinand laughs and shakes his head.

“I’m used to not sleeping much,” Ferdinand says. 

“That’s the same for me then,” Hubert replies. 

“But you’re supposed to work at 4AM,” Ferdinand counters. “I’m an observer.”

“Still, lack of sleep can’t do you good in this kind of situation,” Hubert returns the remark quickly. He crosses his arms.

And similarly, Ferdinand crosses his arms as well.

This isn’t something they’re going to agree on.

“There’s only one bed,” Ferdinand says. “You should take it.”

Hubert sighs. 

Frankly, a quick nap might do him some good. But he’s not going to let a civilian watch over him as he takes a nap, especially when he’s fully aware said civilian is going to go into the same dangerous situation as he in a few hours time and slept as little — or even less — than he did the previous night.

“Unless,” Hubert says. “You sleep on the bed and I’ll take the couch.” 

“No!” Ferdinand is quick to respond to that, shaking his head furiously. “I simply can’t let someone who serves our country take the couch.”

“I handle white collar crime,” Hubert says carefully. “It’s not exactly a heroic job.”

“Still!” Ferdinand insists. “If anything, we should share the bed.”

“How is that better?”

“You’re not going to give up,” Ferdinand says, there’s annoyance to his voice, but it seems like he understands Hubert enough to realize this. “And neither will I!”

Hubert understands Ferdinand too. Bright, cheerful, good-with-people Ferdinand. Ferdinand, who doesn’t let nobility and what it stands for be a thing of the past.

“Fine,” Hubert gives up. 

In a way, Ferdinand is correct. He is tired and a nap would do him good. He sets his phone to wake them up around midnight and throws off his shoes and jumps on one side of the bed.

It’s not first class accommodation. In fact, it’s even less comfortable than his bed at home, but it would have to do.

Ferdinand climbs on the other side of the bed. 

Conscious of the other man’s movements, Hubert pulls himself as closely as possible to the edge of the bed. He realizes, just by glancing back, it’s the same for Ferdinand. The two of them leaving a large space untaken right in the middle.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Hubert says, looking back to Ferdinand over his shoulder. Of course, all he can see from how they are on the bed is Ferdinand’s hair, flowing down to cover his back. “You should sleep more comfortably.”

“I could say the same about you,” Ferdinand says. He doesn’t turn back to Hubert. But neither does he make any move to take the center of the bed.

Hubert sighs. 

Both of them are stubborn, he realizes. He turns around to see the motel room cabinet right across him. 

But this is comfortable enough for him, especially after all the nights he spent at the station or at the back of another officer’s car. He can fall asleep like this. 

He closes his eyes and makes an attempt to forget Ferdinand in front of him.

Which doesn’t work, because he’s so keenly aware of the other man at his back. But he’s tired enough that slowly, eventually, sleep does claim him.

Hubert is woken up by the alarm he set on his phone. Still bleary, he reaches up to the phone to see that it’s midnight.

“Hey,” Hubert turns around, but unlike how they’ve fallen asleep with the gap between them, Ferdinand is right at his back.

It seems like they’ve rolled over in their sleep to be closer to the center.

But Ferdinand doesn’t have to know that.

Hubert clears his throat, getting up from his side of the bed then shakes Ferdinand awake.

“Huh?” 

Ferdinand is absolutely ungraceful while sleeping. He’s sprawled on the bed like a starfish and even from where he is, in this dim lighting, Hubert can see the drool near the edge of Ferdinand’s lips.

It’s somewhat endearing, even if Hubert would never admit that to himself.

“It’s midnight,” he told Ferdinand.

Ferdinand yawns before sitting up on the bed. He scratches the back of his head sleepily. He glances outside the window to see the night sky.

“Everyone else is ready in their car,” Hubert says as he walks away from Ferdinand toward the musty sofa they kept their things at. He opens his night bag and takes out sachets of coffee. He then holds it up to Ferdinand. “Want some?”

Ferdinand laughs weakly and shakes his head.

“I don’t usually like coffee, and I doubt instant coffee is going to change that,” he then smiles at Hubert, a sleepy, unguarded smile. “But if you’re boiling some water, I’d have some of that. I think I’ve a teabag in my bag.”

Hubert nods. He walks over to the bathroom with his electric kettle — one of his must-brings for a nighttime mission like this —- and fills it with the water from the tap. When he steps out, he sees Ferdinand in front of the full-length mirror of the motel, tidying up his hair and his clothes.

“Should’ve brought my wooden brush,” Ferdinand mutters as he runs his fingers down his hair to get it under control.

“Long hair seems troublesome.”

“It’s convenient when you don’t have time to cut it,” Ferdinand says. “It can grow and no one would notice it’s growing out of the original style.”

It doesn’t strike Hubert that Ferdinand is the type to not have time to cut his hair. It does come to him that the time spent grooming the hair every morning seems more troublesome than cutting it every now and then.

But he can’t deny that the long hair suits Ferdinand.

He takes out his mug from the bag, and Ferdinand looks back at him and chuckles.

“You’re so well prepared,” he says.

“I’ve an extra mug for you,” Hubert replies.

“Extremely well prepared,” Ferdinand says with a chuckle. He walks over to take the extra mug from Hubert. “So you do stakeouts like this often then?”

“Often enough,” Hubert shrugs. “But more likely than not, I’m at the office going through data. These are stuff from my locker.”

“Even the electric kettle?”

“The one at the station doesn’t work right sometimes,” Hubert murmurs.

Ferdinand laughs. He grabs a box of tea from his bag and places it inside the mug.

“You brought tea but no kettle or mugs.”

“I thought the motel would have that,” Ferdinand says with a slight blush. “All the hotels I’ve been to have that kind of corner, you see.”

Hubert snorts. He realizes then that Ferdinand probably has no experience with cheap, run down motels. He’s used to upper-class hotels with all their amenities. 

“Lucky you have me, then,” Hubert says teasingly.

“Lucky to have you, indeed,” Ferdinand replies — his reply is absolutely honest, with no secondary intent to it, not even to tease back. This catches Hubert off guard, and he finds himself rather flushed. He turns away to fix his eyes on his drink.

They set their drinks down on the counter, and Hubert pours out the hot water for both of them. 

They settle across each other — Hubert on the chair, and Ferdinand on the hotel bed, cross-legged.

“Are you nervous?” Ferdinand asks.

“I’m always a little nervous before any operation,” Hubert answers honestly. He’s talking to a civilian, and he knows that telling Ferdinand he’s completely calm isn’t going to help. 

“Even the seasoned detective huh?” Ferdinand says with a sheepish smile.

“You never know what’s going to happen,” Hubert says. He then sips his coffee. Instant coffee isn’t particularly delicious, but it sends a jolt down his spine, the kind he needs to be fully awake for the operation. “That’s why you should make sure to listen to me.”

“I will, I will,” Ferdinand chuckles. “I promise I won’t get in your way.”

They enjoy their drinks quietly, chatting about the painting every here and there. 

It’s interesting to hear how passionate Ferdinand is about ‘The von Aegir March’. It’s a painting he has grown up with, and for a good amount of time, he had taken it for granted. But as he grows older, he understands more about the painting, recognizing it as a historic legacy for his family. 

“It makes me realize, each time I look at it,” Ferdinand says. “That I’ve responsibility to our Fodlan society, as a descendant of the men in that painting.”

To Ferdinand, this painting is a symbol of his own nobility, Hubert realizes. And with how earnestly Ferdinand talks about it, Hubert can’t help but to have this gut feeling that Ferdinand truly wants to help in finding the painting. That Ferdinand can’t have been a suspect.

Which is the opposite kind of gut feeling a seasoned, suspicious detective like Hubert would have.

It’s rather refreshing, he has to admit. Not aloud however — enough to admit that quietly to himself.

Without them realizing it, it’s almost 4 AM.

“Do deals like this always take place in such strange timing?” Ferdinand asks.

“Criminals like the night,” Hubert says. “But 4AM is rather strange, yes.”

Just as he says that, there’s a knock on the door.

“Ferdinand?” A rough, unfamiliar voice calls out.

Hubert signals for Ferdinand to go to the door. Meanwhile, he readies himself to alert the other policemen on standby.

Ferdinand clears his throat.

“I am Ferdinand,” Ferdinand says, holding back his surname.

He watches out for Hubert’s signal. Hubert then gives him a nod to open the door, and Ferdinand follows through.

The men on the other side of the door are wearing ski masks, just as Raphael have described.

“The money first,” the man in front says.

“No,” Hubert says. “We have to see the painting first. It’s big, surely, you don’t think we can run off with it.”

The men look at each other before nodding.

“Alright, but try anything funny and we’ll shoot you.”

The man in front of the rest signals for Ferdinand and Hubert to follow them. The two of them step into the cold of the night. Ferdinand glances back at Hubert, who gives him a nod to keep going.

The lights in 106 and 108 are off, but Hubert knows that his colleagues are watching out for them.

They follow the men to the parking lot, walking past some of the plain-looking police cars on the way. Hubert gives them all a knock without the men realizing, giving his location to his colleagues.

And finally, they reach a white van, similar to that Raphael describes. But unlike Raphael’s description, this white van has a license plate.

No doubt the crooks put it back on after stealing the painting.

“Just one of you,” the man says. He signals for his partners to open the back door of the van.

“I’ll go,” Ferdinand says. 

Hubert nods. Ferdinand knows more about painting than he does anyway. Ferdinand knows most about this particular painting, having grown up with it.

He keeps watch of the men in the ski mask as Ferdinand climbs into the van.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says nervously from inside the van. “This painting is fake.”

“What!?” One of the men in ski masks exclaims. They point a gun at Ferdinand, but Hubert whips out his gun and points it at the man.

“Ferdinand, stay down!” Hubert instructs. 

“What are you!?” One of the men exclaims.

Hubert takes no time to answer that. One of the men is about to get closer to Ferdinand, but Hubert fires a shot toward the door of the van, startling the man.

Taking advantage of their surprise, the plain-clothes police officers appear, surrounding the men. 

“Damn it!” One of the men shouts as he puts his hands up.

Hubert goes over to the van and extends his hand to Ferdinand, letting him down from the van.

“Did you mean it?” Hubert asks.

“I meant it,” Ferdinand says. “The original painting — it has this mistake, a stroke of red near the bottom-right corner. This painting doesn’t have that.”

Hubert glares down the crooks.

“You have some guts, trying to sell us a fake.”

“It’s not a fake!” One of the crooks shouts. “It’s the painting we stole!”

“At least they’re admitting to stealing it,” Ferdinand smiles wryly.

Hubert nods.

But this begs the question.

Where is the real painting?

Hubert and his colleagues bring the crooks into the station. Meanwhile, Ferdinand calls Lorenz to help verify the authenticity of the painting.

Lorenz arrives first thing in the morning. After scrunching up his nose at the station, he goes straight to the painting.

“I thought it was fake because of the lack of red stroke at the right hand corner,” Ferdinand explains. “It’s really bright — and I can always see it even when it’s dim at my house.”

Lorenz studies the painting closer.

“You’re absolutely right,” he touches the painting, pointing out a different area. “This blue isn’t a blue that existed as paint two-hundred years ago. I would say this is a relatively recent painting.”

“But those crooks swear this is the real painting,” Hubert explains.

Lorenz huffs. 

“What do crooks know about paintings!” He says angrily. “This painting is without a doubt, a fake.”

“If Lorenz says so, it must be true,” Ferdinand says, looking at Hubert to push this point. 

“Here’s what we have from the crooks,” Hubert says, recounting his interviews with them before Lorenz arrives. “An unknown person using a voice changer hired them to steal the painting from the red light of Myrr Street, after that, they were instructed to destroy the painting. Wanting a double payday, they decided to sell it on the black market instead.”

“This still doesn’t answer where the real painting is,” Lorenz huffs. 

But Ferdinand grows quiet. 

“Lorenz,” he says, his voice unusually grim. “When did you last see the real painting?”

“The day before,” Lorenz says. “When I was checking it with your dad.”

“And for me, it was the night before,” Ferdinand says. He looks to Hubert, as if wanting Hubert to say something that he himself can’t word out loud. “When I saw it on the day it was being transported, it was already covered with cloth.”

Hubert purses his lips, knowing exactly what Ferdinand means.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says gently. 

Ferdinand stops him, shaking his head.

“Give me a little bit,” Ferdinand says. “I’m going to take a breath of fresh air.”

He gets up and heads toward the exit.

“What’s with him?” Lorenz asks. “Could it be he knows where the real painting is?”

Oh, he knows. Hubert realizes. 

Ferdinand knows, that’s why it’s so hard for him right now.

Hubert goes to find Ferdinand out of the station after seeing Lorenz off. The other man is sitting down at a bench under a tree, looking unusually grim.

“Captain von Hresvelg,” Hubert says. “Is processing a warrant right now.”

Ferdinand chuckles darkly.

“I see.”

“We still have to see it through to the end,” Hubert says. Then awkwardly, he adds on to it: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ferdinand shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. I’m just. I’m just shocked.”

Of course he is. After all, Ferdinand realizes with him seeing the painting the night before, and Raphael having no problem in transporting it until Myrr Street, there’s only one person with the motive and opportunity to take the original painting away, replacing it with a fake. The one person who would’ve known that the painting taken by Raphael and the other transporters was a fake that can and should be destroyed.

“You shouldn’t come,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand shakes his head.

“It’s not just you who has to see it through to the end, I have to as well,” he looks to Hubert with a sad smile. “After all, I was the one who wanted to come along with you.”

“Still,” Hubert says, trying to be as gentle as possible with Ferdinand. “This outcome must be hard for you.”

“It is,” Ferdinand admits readily. “But I’m a von Aegir. I have to face forward. I have to show the world we’re noble and just.”

Hubert laughs. Ferdinand surprises him. He then looks at Ferdinand, quietly observing the other man. 

“Even with what happened?”

“Especially because of what happened,” Ferdinand says firmly.

Hubert admires Ferdinand at that very moment. Ferdinand, bravely facing forward with the spark in his eyes. Ferdinand, who’s resolute to find the truth.

Ferdinand, who has to face his father and all the ignoble things his father had done.

“Besides,” Ferdinand says, stretching his arms. “Our mansion is pretty big. And let’s just say I’ve an inkling of where my father might have put that painting.”

Ferdinand smiles, brightly, earnestly.

“Let’s go, Hubert,” he grins to the detective.

Brightly, earnestly, sadly.

But as noble as he can be.

“So it’s all for the insurance money after all,” Edelgard says. She places down Hubert’s report on her desk. 

That day, they brought their warrant to von Aegir’s mansion, but it was Ferdinand who made quick work of it. He remembered his father rearranging the furnitures the first time Hubert went to the mansion, and realized quickly that the furnitures were getting rearranged to make room for the large painting.

The painting was recovered with no problem at all, and Ludwig von Aegir was arrested for insurance fraud.

After that, Hubert was tasked to write the report for the document, and Ferdinand did not stay around for that. He can’t help in writing a report anyway, and he’s definitely busy, handling his household affair with the arrest of his dad.

“What’s silly is, he doesn’t even need that insurance money,” Hubert says to Edelgard. “The von Aegirs are rich.”

“True,” Edelgard says quietly. “But some people are truly greedy. Ludwig von Aegir saw this painting that he can’t sell no matter what, as it’s related to his family’s legacy, and decided that insurance fraud is the best way to make money out of it. He took advantage of Ferdinand and Lorenz wanting to hold that exhibition.”

“Which will still take place in a week’s time,” Hubert hands Edelgard a pamphlet with the exhibition, ‘The von Aegir March’ taking up the front page.

With the media circus surrounding the missing painting, the exhibition becomes a highly anticipated one. ‘The von Aegir March’, then, became the number one highlight of the exhibition.

“So how’s it?” Edelgard asks. “Working with Ferdinand von Aegir.”

“It’s alright,” Hubert says with a shrug. “He’s more useful than I thought he would be.”

Edelgard hums in approval.

“Maybe this way I can assign you a partner after all.”

“Please don’t,” Hubert sighs.

Edelgard smiles at him.

“Anyway, thank you for the report, Hubert,” she says. “You deserve a break after all that — but you already have your next case, huh?”

“Criminals don’t rest just because I’m tired,” Hubert smiles back to Edelgard. He then bows and leaves the captain’s office, heading back to his table.

There, he sees long orange hair flowing down broad back.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert raises an eyebrow.

Ferdinand looks back, smiling as he waves. He is holding Hubert’s current case file.

“Another missing painting huh?” He says as Hubert takes a seat next to him.

“What are you doing here?” Hubert says, glaring right at Ferdinand.

“Didn’t Captain von Hresvelg tell you?” Ferdinand tilts his head. “I’ll be consulting on your latest case. Bringing my painting expertise into it.”

No wonder she asked if Hubert would be okay with a partner.

“You’re a civilian, Ferdinand,” Hubert says, not wanting to quite look at Ferdinand’s eyes. “Besides, aren’t you busy?”

“I need a distraction, too,” Ferdinand says.

“Then go to an escape room or something.”

Ferdinand laughs. He gets up, picking up the extra motorcycle helmet from Hubert’s desk.

“We’re going to the gallery right?” he says while patting Hubert’s shoulder. Then, he does something that surprises Hubert. He leans in and places a kiss on Hubert’s cheek.

“Wh-!?”

“Come on Hubert,” Ferdinand says as if nothing just happened.

He grins widely, looking like the brightest thing in Hubert’s life.

Hubert can only sigh, unable to say no to Ferdinand von Aegir.


End file.
